02-14-2021, 04:01 PM
jarris
There are so many things he wishes he could have done differently.
He wishes that he could have dissolved himself into her bloodstream so many years ago, lived out his days in the network of her veins, buried himself in the chambers of her heart, burrowed his way into the marrow of her bones. He belonged there. She has been his home for as long as he can remember but he has never known how to stay put.
She has always deserved so much more than he has been able to give her.
How terribly he has made her suffer.
He can feel it, even now. Even when he stays.
There is so much hurt that pulses between them and he is responsible for every bit of it. This is why the heart twists and spasms and twinges so dreadfully in the cage of his ribs. This is why the gold cuts such thick rivers down his cheeks, why it pools at his feet. Sometimes he lays his cheek against her neck and studies the patterns it leaves on her skin. He wonders if it scalds her the same way it does him.
Despite the terrible heartsickness, he smiles. How sweet she is, how lovely. How desperately he loves her, always has, always will. How wonderful that her kiss should still steal tremors down the length of his spine, even after all this time. “I promise that I look just the same as I always have,” he murmurs. He wants to say just as miserable but he does not want her to think that it’s the staying that makes him miserable. He does not want her to think that his misery has anything at all to do with her. It is the pain alone, the bitter sting of the gold that streaks relentlessly down his cheeks.
“Besides, between the two of us, you have always been easier to look at,” he assures her gently. Sincerely. Especially now. Especially with the way he bleeds and weeps without pause now.
“Do you think the children are all right?” he asks, though he doesn’t want to. Not because he doesn’t wonder but because he fears the answer might be anything other than a resounding yes.
He wishes that he could have dissolved himself into her bloodstream so many years ago, lived out his days in the network of her veins, buried himself in the chambers of her heart, burrowed his way into the marrow of her bones. He belonged there. She has been his home for as long as he can remember but he has never known how to stay put.
She has always deserved so much more than he has been able to give her.
How terribly he has made her suffer.
He can feel it, even now. Even when he stays.
There is so much hurt that pulses between them and he is responsible for every bit of it. This is why the heart twists and spasms and twinges so dreadfully in the cage of his ribs. This is why the gold cuts such thick rivers down his cheeks, why it pools at his feet. Sometimes he lays his cheek against her neck and studies the patterns it leaves on her skin. He wonders if it scalds her the same way it does him.
Despite the terrible heartsickness, he smiles. How sweet she is, how lovely. How desperately he loves her, always has, always will. How wonderful that her kiss should still steal tremors down the length of his spine, even after all this time. “I promise that I look just the same as I always have,” he murmurs. He wants to say just as miserable but he does not want her to think that it’s the staying that makes him miserable. He does not want her to think that his misery has anything at all to do with her. It is the pain alone, the bitter sting of the gold that streaks relentlessly down his cheeks.
“Besides, between the two of us, you have always been easier to look at,” he assures her gently. Sincerely. Especially now. Especially with the way he bleeds and weeps without pause now.
“Do you think the children are all right?” he asks, though he doesn’t want to. Not because he doesn’t wonder but because he fears the answer might be anything other than a resounding yes.
I WAS READY TO DIE FOR YA, BABY
DOESN’T MEAN I’M READY TO STAY
DOESN’T MEAN I’M READY TO STAY
@[Plumeria]